


Dead Man Walking

by MistFlame54



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Danny is not Phantom, Danny is somewhat a Delinquent, Depressed Jack Fenton, Estrangement, Jack is a little smarter(?), Just think about Jack in Masters of Time, One Shot, Recluse Jack Fenton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistFlame54/pseuds/MistFlame54
Summary: Jack Fenton is alone, and he accepts that. But when his estranged son returns home on the run from dangerous people, Jack has to face ghosts from his past in order to save his son’s life.OrA alternate timeline/universe in which Vlad never survived the accident and how things ended up (I'll leave it at that)
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Jack Fenton
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Dead Man Walking

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, instead of working on the story I haven't touched for over a month I wrote this. Anyway I don't write "serious" stuff as often so enjoy or at least read at your own risk :)

Jack Fenton peers into the fridge, disappointed at what it contains. A few clementines, green and as hard as rocks, greek yogurt (that has expired long ago) and a bottle of ketchup, its contents an aged crust at the very bottom. Everything he’s eaten has been like that lately. He had wondered why the frozen burrito had been extra crunchy last night. 

The cabinets don’t hold much better, he knows. Some oats. Croutons. Chip crumbs. 

Jack finally has to admit to himself that he might have to leave the house and buy food. He hasn’t left the house in months. In fact, he hasn’t even left the basement for at least a few weeks. He has been too consumed with work, work that was probably fruitless and foolish, but work nonetheless. 

Terry, a neighbor a few houses down the street, was (unreasonably) kind enough to grocery shop for him every other weekend. But he’s on vacation now, and Jack regrets taking his care for granted.

He’s about to settle for attempting to peel one of the clementines when he realizes there’s a better option: order pizza. Typically he’s a meat lover’s guy, but with a tight budget he settles for a large plain cheese, punching in the right number on the keypad of his corded landline. He doesn’t own a cellphone. Not because of what most people think, that he’s inept with technology (because he definitely isn’t, contrary to popular belief) but because he doesn’t trust a tiny fragile thing like a cellphone in his big, clumsy hands, which have done more harm than good. His hands work with big things, dangerous things. 

When the kid on the phone asks for a name for the order, Jack is surprised when they don’t sneer at the name. When most people hear the name “Jack Fenton” in Amity Park, Minnesota, they scoff at the old recluse who lives in his basement, whose wife left and took their children with her as fast as she could. 

But that was a long time ago, and maybe this new generation hadn’t gotten the chance to discover the stories yet. Or people were beginning to forget. Jack assures himself that this is a good thing, and with a click hangs up the phone.

The pizza should be here in fifteen minutes.

* * *

The pizza has grown cold by the time Jack takes his first bite. He was hungry when it first arrived, but he had reached a point in his work that required his full attention. Though the mouth-watering scent of garlic and cheese made him so dizzy, he barely got anything substantial done before he finally gives in to the temptation.

He used to be a big man in his prime, and while he still stands at an impressive height with a somewhat intimidating girth, he has thinned considerably, letting himself be consumed with research and work instead of loneliness and grief. Where he had once been large and jovial, he is now sallow and grim.

He manages to finish half of the pizza, placing the rest in the basement’s fridge for later. It would probably get eaten around one or two in the morning when he needs a quick snack to keep his energy up, and his mind working. He remembers when he could devour entire pizzas in one sitting, loaded with toppings. His diminishing appetite was just another reminder of his continuing degradation.

Not wishing to carry on into the downward spiral of thought about how his life ended up, Jack seeks to enter more deeply into his work, setting his primary project aside to work on a few inventions Terry’s husband Grant, in equivalent kindness to his husband, gave Jack. Grant had given Jack a job fixing and engineering products from his friend’s cosmetics company. Though Jack’s specialty was weaponry (in the past), Jack slipped into the role of designing new curling irons and hairdryers easily. Besides, he was paid, and one couldn’t mess up those products too badly.

Jack frowns over a pocket-sized laser hair removers, his wide hands shaking slightly handling the tiny parts. Maybe he’ll work on this one later. He can feel himself itching to work on the primary project.

Blinking blearily at the clock, which read 12:30am, he wonders briefly if he should attempt going to bed. He nearly laughs aloud at the absurdity. Maybe he’ll have some of that pizza early. But he might want it later that night.

As he debates whether to leave his work bench and grab the pizza, his musings are interrupted by a faint tapping noise from upstairs. After staying still and straining his ears, Jack hears the tapping again, this time less hesitant, more sharp, and persistent.

With a grunt, he rises, and slowly climbs the stairs to the kitchen. Until he reaches the door, he doesn’t hear the knocking again, then it comes like thunder, dozens of taps in a desperate frenzy.

Jack should be concerned: no one besides Terry, Grant, or delivery service ever comes knocking. And though it’s not late, it’s late enough that no self-respecting person would be going around knocking on doors. But Jack is confident in his ability to defend himself should it come to that.

He turns the doorknob, and yanks the heavy door open, and cold night air drifts into the house. 

His son stands on the porch, looking like he is about to take off running any second, hands in his pockets, perching on his toes.

Jack doesn’t know if what he’s seeing is real, or the result of a pizza-induced dream.

* * *

Danny sits at the table in the kitchen, knuckles whitened on a glass of water that he doesn’t drink. Jack wonders why he’s gripping it so tightly, then with a scraping of a chair, sits across from his son.

Other than a quick greeting, neither man had spoken a single word to one another. The silence filled up the room like an icy fog, freezing Jack’s mouth shut, and making every movement feel forced and rigid.

Finally, Jack spoke. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks softly, no threat in his voice, only sorrowful curiosity.

Danny reluctantly looks up, but stares past Jack at the white cabinets. 

“I had nowhere else to go,” he admits after a few moments, looking back down at the glass in his hand. 

Jack leans back in his chair, which squeaks under his weight. He contemplates what was just said, and knows it’s going to be important how he phrases his next question. Danny in all twenty-five years of his life was elusive, distant with all of his family members, based on the few calls Jack receives from Danny’s sister Jasmine, Jack’s daughter.

Jack nods once, and with a grunt rises out of the chair. Danny follows his movements with his dull blue eyes, which Jack recalled used to be so much brighter in childhood pictures.

“I think I still have some Bourbon around here somewhere,” Jack mutters, rifling through the bare cabinets. He finally finds what he’s looking for, and along with the whisky he sets two glasses on the table. Danny gives a half smile, as if he approves of the selection. After a drink, Danny begins his story, Jack listening intently. 

“It was kind of a rough time (when isn’t it)- I was out of work, renting a room of a buddy of mine, but I was barely making the payments on time, and, er, so I had to find work fast or I’d be on the streets again.”

_ Again? _ Jack thinks. He knows so little about his son. But he doesn’t interrupt. 

Danny continued, “I was beginning to get desperate, so I asked a friend who I knew could get me a job that made a lot of money quick, didn’t ever really matter to me the legality of things as long as I was back on my feet. At that time, it could have been anything and I would have done it.”

“What, like drugs?” Jack isn’t too familiar with the world of dealers, but it is what he felt like the story was leaning toward.

“More or less,” Danny admits, suddenly a little hesitant. But he regains his confidence quickly. “But I was more like a go-between. Delivery. You did what you were told. No questions. And for the most part, I did. Again, as long as it paid the bills, then it was fine. Until it wasn’t.” Here Danny pauses to swallow another sip of his drink, Adam’s apple bobbing as his face becomes grim. Jack knows he is probably getting to the core of the reason Danny has shown up here in the first place.

“I got transferred, so to speak.” Danny says after a thoughtful pause. “Suddenly jobs were more frequent, a little more risky. But since by then I had a small but growing reputation for getting the job done quickly without talking, they kept coming to me for more and more jobs. If you thought it, I was probably delivering it. Half the time, no most of the time I had no fucking idea what could be in those bags, or boxes or crates, what was loaded in the back of the pickup truck. 

I never had any fucking idea what I was doing. I was stupid. An idiot to believe that any of this would last. A close coworker who would usually do the rounds with me- he alternated driving on the longer routes- went off the grid, suddenly. I didn’t really know him too well, so of course I had no idea what happened.” 

Danny is choosing his words carefully at this point, a sign to Jack that this may not be entirely true.

“Next thing I knew-“ Danny works his jaw nervously, “At two or three in the morning I was woken by two huge men, clearly meant sent with the sole purpose to scare information out of their victims. They started asking about who I’d been talking to the past few weeks, which I told them was none of their fucking business. I told them to get off an innocent man’s back and go find some _ thing _ to shove their- 

Anyway, this was before they even started asking about the other guy. Then, I was sure that they thought I knew nothing- I even threw in a few fake details about what I  _ thought _ would seem suspicious but not what they were looking for. 

Honestly, that part of of the conversation went by in a blur. I was sputtering crap about how I thought I saw him sneaking shit for himself, telling the buyer to pay for less than the agreed price, etc. But as the time went on I could tell they weren’t buying it, and my confidence earlier in the night began to diminish. It was about five am, and I told them the guy I rented from worked nights and would be back soon, but we all knew that was BS because I bought that apartment months ago. 

They finally left, and I thought that maybe I was safe, they hadn’t killed me. Then, after a long time of trying to ease my shot nerves, I looked up, freezing when I saw what lay on my dresser, right by the alarm clock. A gun, lit red by the glowing red numbers. Just some ordinary hand gun, but it was a sign that it was far from over. I

t was bigger than I realized, and the big and powerful behind everything I’d worked for had been in complete control all along. It was never a bit under my jurisdiction. I was a pawn in their game, and once I proved myself worthless to them, I’d be eliminated.” Danny swipes the table. “Checkmate. And I’d given them all the evidence they’d needed. The gun was proof they had the last word- and that it was all a game to them.

So a wasted no time- didn’t touch the gun, packed a few meager belongings- getting out before they’d return. I laid low, never staying in one place too long, and I took seeing no one as a good sign. Wrong. They were always there, and when they let you see them is when you’re close to death. 

Once, I saw two people of the same day on the same street who immediately made alarms go off in my head. First, there was a woman in really baggy clothes, sunglasses, and a cap. An hour later, there was a man wearing something eerily similar. You see, it’s to hide the revolvers and whatever other weapons they have under their clothes. 

I panicked, and left where I was staying immediately. I had no idea where to go, and wandering aimlessly wouldn’t cut it for forever. I couldn’t call mom, Jazz, let alone see them, because then they’d be in danger, and I hadn’t spoken to either of them in a long time.” Danny pauses only long enough to give Jack one fleeting glance. “Then, I guess I just thought of you- you’d probably be safe, seeing as I’ve barely known you all my life.” There is no bitterness in his voice, simply acceptance, as if he’s gotten over this fact long ago.

“But I won’t stay long.” Danny adds. Jack nods, then they both go to take a sip of their drink at the same time. Jack frowns to himself as he feel the whisky burn on the way down. Danny, he notices, has broken into a sweat, staring blankly in front of him. Jack is clearly the first person he’s told. He probably feels an immense relief or at least a release in doing so, but what now?

Jack feels a burden weighing on his shoulders, urging him to do something. He’s never been responsible or felt responsibility for anyone in a long time. The memory is rekindled.  _ So this is what it feels like. _

After a long time without either man speaking, Jack finally says what else he’s suspected, but didn’t give voice to until now.

“You talked to the FBI, didn’t you?” Jack asks, not in an accusatory tone, instead as if he’s stating a fact. “They found out that you didn’t keep quiet.” Danny’s silence is as good as a confirmation for Jack.

His son really had fucked up big time.

Suddenly Jack doesn’t know what to do with this young man sitting at his table. He wants to fix this, wrap his arms around Danny’s prove form- anything- but his body refuses to move. He doesn’t know where to start on the years of distance and absence. The best he can do is at least refill Danny’s glass.

“Let me top that off for you,” Jack says softly, while Danny continues to blankly stare. The bourbon splashes into the glass, the only sound filling the silence. Jack rests his chin on his hand.

“I’m as good as dead.” Danny mumbles incoherently. “A dead man walking.” 

Jack sits straight up, mind ignited. Danny seems to notice, though his eyes retain the glazed look.

“What?”

Jack retuned his gaze readily. “What if I told you there might be a way to fix this mess you’re in?” He has Danny’s attention now.

“How?” Danny is tiring not to sound too hopeful, but it leaks into his voice; the emotion is infectious. Jack leans forward, feeling hope’s effect but not absorbing it. 

This isn’t hope. It’s a fragment- an idea, a scarp of a dream that hasn’t attained reality.

“It was an idea we had,” Jack explains. “My old friend Vlad and I. And at one point in her life, your mother.” Danny’s face registers faint surprise at this.

“It was the idea… the possibility of… immortality.”

“Whoa whoa, wait a minute-“ Danny sputters, drawing back in horror.

“Hold on, Danny, I’m not finished.” Jack interrupted calmly, though he feels the opposite. Danny falls into a skeptical silence, while Jack steels himself for what comes next. 

“We discovered a dimension for the afterlife, Danny, a place where souls could live forever. I was filled with tremendous energy, and a substance you may know as ectoplasm. But to us, it was the Draught of Life.” Jack holds up two fingers. “These two things are the key to immortality. And we were so sure it would work…Vlad…he was so sure it would work. You see, he-“ Jack breaks off, throat tightening. After so many years it was still hard. “He tested it, and it wasn’t ready.  _ We _ weren’t ready.” 

He tries not to see the bubbling skin, blisters, hear the sound of screams and smell the burning flesh- but it would forever remain etched in his memory.

“Vlad paid dearly for our mistakes.” Jack says darkly. “Maddie and I grew close out of the tragedy, but while I elected to continue the research, Maddie wanted to put the past behind us and focus on the family. So she left. But I continued where Vlad left off. I finished the work. It’s ready, and all I needed was a reason to finally use it.” 

Jack looks up from his rambling, not expecting Danny to be too keen on remaining in the same house as a raving lunatic any longer. But Danny’s blue eyes are sharp, staring at Jack intently.

“You’re right.” Danny’s words are equally piercing. He clenches his fist. “It’s either die from the mob or die trying to escape them.” His eye twitches. 

“Let’s do it.” 

* * *

Jack’s work in the basement is one large metal hole in the wall, stuffed with enough wires to power a small city. At the moment, it is silent and dormant. But it is in fact a portal, with the ability to tear a hole into the dimension of the afterlife, allowing all of its energy to flow into the tunnel, transforming the person who stood within. It might fail Danny. But like Danny had said, It was either die from those trying to kill him or die trying to survive them.

Jack can only imagine what would happen if he succeeded. Would Danny become like a superhuman, powered by unlimited energy? Would he truly become invincible to all attacks?

Or there is the other end of the spectrum, something Vlad had heavily researched when he was still alive. The possibility of become what Vlad dubbed as a “living ghost.” A literal paradox of nature. Not living, not dead. Somewhere in between. It could be a blessing or a curse, an existence worse than death.

Yet in Danny’s eyes, he is desperate enough to take these risks, it seems. After everything Jack has told him, it has only made Danny more determined.

Jack inserts the syringe full of ectoplasm into Danny’s neck, squeezing the plunger. Now that it’s in his system, they’ll need to act fast. 

Jack steps back from the portal, focusing on making the final preparations and calculations. Day after day he was down here, running tests, making excuses in his mind how it was unfinished. But it always had been. He just never had a reason to use it until now.

He holds up the remote and nods at Danny. Danny nods back, wearing one of the old extra jumpsuits Jack keeps in the lab and never managed to get rid of. It’s white and black, and fits his son perfectly. The look his son is giving him isn’t trust, it’s something else, but what it is Jack can’t say. All he knows is that this is his son. He’s doing this to save his son.

It’s now or never.

“BONZAI!” Jack yells, as if he’ll never get to say it again. The portal comes to life, filling the room with a green light.

Jack closes his eyes, bracing himself for what comes next. 

  
  



End file.
